


Just friends

by aeryn_sun



Category: Cardinal (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:15:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26150251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aeryn_sun/pseuds/aeryn_sun
Summary: OK, I completely lack inspiration at the moment and I was just sitting here enjoying all the amazing new fic. Then I saw this prompt on tumblr and figured "Why not":"Slow burn mutual pining but the burn is emotional and the fic is pwp, they smut it up while both wanting more and thinking the other one wants to be friends with benefits. Having only this much of them is torture but not having them at all would be worse. Each of them dreads the day their lover falls in love with someone else. Both of them are so surprised to learn they’ve both been in love with the other the whole time."Maybe somewhat out of character, but look, it's smut. With the way the show ended, out of character is practically a pre-requisite. Also somewhat of an alternate universe after S3. And oh look, I can’t even write pwp without it taking a dark turn somewhere. And okay, maybe they're not that surprised. I mean, they're idiots in love, but they're detectives and they're not that dumb, they're just really bad at talking about their feelings.
Relationships: John Cardinal & Lise Delorme, John Cardinal/Lise Delorme
Comments: 11
Kudos: 15





	Just friends

It had started the night Lise had come over, leg in cast and on crutches. Well, a part of _it_ had started that night, the misunderstanding that they wanted to be _friends_. It had become a regular thing afterwards, watching a movie, as _friends_ , over takeaway and the occasional home cooked meal. Everything about it said casual and platonic and none of it said romantic or date. John would throw on a pair of sweatpants and Lise would show up in comfortable leggings seeing as how sometimes she’d fall asleep or end up too drunk to drive home and she would just sleep on his couch. It was all _friendly_ , that’s all it was. They were partners and they liked each other’s easy company and sometimes they just didn’t want to be alone, and being _friends_ just came easy to them.

The benefits – that came later. When one night Lise brought a bottle of a really nice red wine, hair still wet from the shower, thrown together in a lazy, messy bun and had just _a bit too_ much, and was just _a bit_ too grabby and just _a bit_ too chatty and just _a bit_ too horny … and they probably shouldn’t have picked a random movie on Netflix. But there it was. _Friends with benefits._

And she laughed _a little_ too loud and that shirt that was just _a bit_ too off white and just _a bit_ too short to cover her ass, clad in tight blue leggings and then she’d let her hair down, curling around her face. And when had she become so comfortable around him that she didn’t bother wearing a bra? And it became really _hard_ not to stare at the way her small breasts jiggled when she laughed and it was just _a bit_ too easy to make out her nipples under that thin, silky shirt. And _Jesus_ , did she have to be so … touchy? She was laughing, very unlike the usual serious Lise and her hand kept brushing against his thigh and it was getting really, really, really _hard_ to concentrate on something other than her soft, smiling lips or her perfect, perky breasts or the way her slender legs joined at the apex of her thighs, on full display they way she was sitting there on his couch, cross-legged as usual.

They didn’t see the end of that movie or maybe it wouldn’t have taken them quite so long to realize there was more to it than friends with benefits. But that’s how it started. After taking a quick bathroom break and making popcorn in the kitchen, while they were waiting for the popcorn to pop and Lise opening another bottle and pouring herself a fourth glass of wine and uttering a dramatic “I haven’t gotten laid in ages” with a heavy slightly drunk French accent and John muttering “Tell me about it.”

And they looked at each other and they knew what the other was thinking. And it should have been awkward, but it wasn‘t. Lise‘s eyes dropped to the outline of the bulge in his sweatpants and instinctively licked her lips.

‚Would it be weird if we...‘ he trailed off.

‚...just scratched the itch?‘ The way she said itch made him horny and hard.

‚Fuck. You better not be joking.‘ he muttered under his breath when she invaded his space, kiss tasting of wine and popcorn and butter. And he grabbed her, pulling her against his hardening erection and the way she gasped into his mouth, desperate and on edge, left very little doubt as to what was on her mind. ‚Fuck. _Me._ ‘ she growled into his ear, nipping at him lightly and grinding herself against him.

And he didn‘t need to be told twice, trapping her between himself and the kitchen counter, his tongue plundering her mouth as his large hands rummaged over the expanse of those legs, up and under that shirt, and when his hands touched her naked skin, she practically bucked into him and he had her shirt off before she could have changed her mind. Not that she wanted to.

And with the way they knew each other, it was almost too easy. He was tuned into her every reaction and had figured out quickly just how wild his beard drove her when he‘d lifted her up on the countertop, lips grazing her collarbone and finally latching onto her nipple with his hand firmly wrapped around her other breast, nimble fingers teasing her nipple between them. And he enjoyed making her arch into him, enjoyed making her make those sounds, between pleas and gasps, when he scratched his beard lightly against her skin, and dropping lower across her flat stomach, making her lean back and give him access.

He hooked his two thumbs into her leggings and removed them in a single motion along with her lace panties and burying his head between her thighs. And _Jesus_ , with his height it was not comfortable at all, but she was soaking wet and her scent drove him wild and the way she was running her fingers through his hair … he was not going to last.

And she could read his mind – or maybe she just wasn’t patient, either, but she nudged him upward and brushing the palm of her hand deliberately over the now prominent bulge and started tugging on the waistband of his sweats and working his shirt off seemingly simultaneously. And it could have been awkward or embarrassing, being completely naked in front of him while he was still completely dressed, but it wasn’t. It felt _right to undress him_. And his sweats and boxers dropped to the floor and he toed them to the side as she hooked those milky white legs around him and he grabbed her ass, bringing her flush to him.

“Shit.”

“What?” She said, in a moment of panic that he was about to change his mind.

“I don’t have any … protection.”

“Oh.” She breathed a sigh of relief. “Hope dies last. Still on the pill.”

“You sure?”

“I’m OK if you are.”

“Not much of a boyscout, huh?”

And he loved the sound of her laugh, he loved being the one to make her laugh, and he couldn’t help himself and kissed the smile off her face. And they should have realized in that moment that there was a tenderness and affection lingering in that soft, sweet kiss that was anything but a quick hot fuck, but if it crossed their minds, they chalked it off to how comfortable they felt with each other. And besides, Lise’s brain shut off when John teased a long finger between her folds and John’s did when she wrapped her warm small hands around his length. Or they would have realized, too, that they both held their breaths when John entered her, slowly and gently, and if they had opened their eyes, they would have seen the love and reverence in the other’s eyes.

But they didn’t – and for all of the talking their bodies did that night, perhaps _they_ should have done a bit more of it. But they were too breathless and caught up in the moment and how incredible it felt, to acknowledge they were _making love_ that night and they told themselves maybe it felt so amazing because it had been ages since either of them had had sex.

And it was a little awkward in the morning, when they woke up in a tangled mess in his bed. But Lise was too hungover and John was busy feeling guilty for possibly having taken advantage of his inebriated colleague and friend, because clearly, she was far too young and beautiful and gorgeous for him.

“Sorry.” She mumbled sleepily and _sheepishly_.

“Huh?” He said, confused.

“Sorry.” She enunciated. “Kinda pounced on you there last night.”

“Uh, pretty sure I was a willing participant there.” He said, smiling awkwardly.

“Yeah?”

“Definitely.”

“It was pretty … incredible.”

“Yeah.”

And that’s how it started. She licked her lips as a mischievous grin crossed her face.

“Wanna … go again?”

And she’d read his mind again, and before he could answer and his only reply was a muttered “Fuuuck” as she’d wrapped her mouth around his cock and had started sucking him to life. And this time, it was definitely about the pleasure, as she straddled him and rode him, coming with an earth-shattering orgasm and he figured later, remembering her concentrated, blissed-out expression as she sunk down on his cock again and again, that he’d give her anything, and if that’s all she needed from him, then seeing her like that was _enough_.

And they had showered – together – and he’d made breakfast. And it wasn’t really that different to when she’d slept on the couch and he’d made breakfast then, too. If only she hadn’t thrown on one of his oversized T-shirts over nothing but a pair of panties. He wondered briefly if she was going to give him a heart attack and vowed to take up running again. And she’d taken their dishes to the sink, his shirt riding up over her panty-clad ass and he just couldn’t help himself as he ground his half-hard cock against her ass, feeling up her breasts through his shirt and (considerate as he was) rubbing her clit until she’d spread her legs for him and he rutted into her, hard and fast, and came, panting and grunting, just as she’d started convulsing around his cock. And that’s how she’d remember it, his hot breath on her neck and his intense pleasure and figured later (stomach in knots), that maybe getting that from him was _enough_.

And those first weeks were a hormone-fueled fuck fest where they couldn’t get enough of each other and it was easy to mistake their passion for nothing but casual sex, given how often they ended up in each other’s bed (if they made it that far). And over time, it became harder and harder to bring up their feelings, but a familiarity with each other’s bodies had let tender touches become commonplace even when they were dressed.

The way his hand lingered on the small of her back when they interviewed a young, good looking witness and he didn’t like the way he was flirting with her. She hadn’t even noticed, too distracted by the jolts of lightning his touch had sent straight to her groin, making her legs feel like jelly. And from then on, his hand would linger on the small of her back when he’d ushered her through a door in front of him or when he was steadying her or simply when the insecurity of how he could possibly be enough for someone as beautiful as her washed over him.

And he’d come to realize how much he’d fallen in love with her, but in a misguided sense of chivalry, he’d convinced himself he couldn’t possibly tell her and stand in the way of her being truly happy with someone who deserved her. But he’d take whatever she could offer, for as long as she would. And from then on, whenever the ugly green monster reared it’s head, he’d grow silent and sullen – which Lise took for disinterest in her as anything other than a fuck buddy, because when they were having sex, he was eager and alive.

But that was because John wasn’t in it for his own pleasure – his pleasure derived mostly from seeing her happy, from making her come undone, from serving her pleasure and he made sure her needs were taken care of. He enjoyed taking care of her, making her dinner or breakfast or both or after a harrowing, long day, he’d run her a bath and sat next to the bathtub, washing her or massaging her back or finger fucking her until she came and would sleep well, warm and relaxed, and he’d wrap around her possessively during the night.

And Lise, well Lise’s touches were less overtly _possessive,_ but the tenderness seeped into every small gesture just the same. The way, after a long, harrowing day when he was hunched over his desk in concentration, her hand would run over his neck, caressing him as she’d suggest “Why don’t we pack things up for the night.” And John, well usually he was good a deciphering any mixed messages, but her concern might just be that of a good friend and the way she’d said “for the night”, he knew she’d be over later, needing to take her mind off the day and he’d be more than willing to provide what she needed.

Or the way her fingers gently grazed over his arms when she tried to get his attention, but her touch electrified him and he missed the loving look that accompanied her soft touches and she certainly hid them well enough. If he had not been so busy feeling sorry for himself, maybe he would have caught her looking longingly at him from across the room or would have noticed the sad shadow that crossed her face whenever his late wife came up in conversation as she contented herself with at least having him physically and she was afraid of the day he might fall in love again.

And the fear of losing him fueled her passion, and sometimes, she couldn’t hold it back and during a lunch break on slow day, her hand would lazily caress his thigh and drift to stroking his hardening length through his pants until his erection strained against his slacks and she lowered the zipper and straddled him in the car and sank down on him until he spilled himself inside of her.

And she was always the night owl and she’d often watch him drift off, sometimes his reading glasses still on his nose and a book open on his chest and she’d pluck them gently from him and as she leaned over him to place them on the nightstand, she’d ghost a kiss against his scruffy cheek or to his front and breathed “I love you.” And he’d be up long before her and he’d watch her sleep, his heart bursting with the love he had for her, if only he could tell her how much without ruining what they had. And while John would have suffered in his unspoken love in silence forever, Lise could not and she ached with how much she wanted to tell him and how much she hoped that maybe, just maybe, he had some feelings for her that extended beyond their friendship.

And then, things started happening. Things that brough them face to face with death and disaster and what they held dear. First, Lise’s mother had died, suddenly. Their relationship had been strained and distant for all her adult life, but when her mother had called and told her she’d been diagnosed with extensive small-cell lung cancer, from one day to the next, Lise was taking care of her dying mother and her affairs. And John was there, wordlessly, taking care of Lise. He’d drive her to the hospital and waited around or ran errands before picking her back up. She was in no condition to drive, tired and on the end of her emotional tether, because losing a parent was hard when you were on good terms, but impossible and devastating when you weren’t and you were running out of time to make things right.

And in an almost rebellious act, faced with death, she _craved John_ and how alive and safe he made her feel. And she was _all over him_ when they got _home_ (as she rarely went to her own apartment anymore). And _it_ had changed from the carefree, sexually charged tension and seeking fun, physical release to something much more undefined, to some unchartered territory where feelings and an emotional intensity had started seeping in. She clung to him, desperately, as if she was trying to cover her entire skin with feeling him as close as she could.

Her legs winding around his, her arms wrapped tightly around him, holding him close as he slowly brought her closer and closer to her climax. And he’d started seeking out her eyes when he did, wiping her sweaty strands of hair from her face and they both knew something unspoken was changing in their arrangement as the began _making love_ with eyes wide open, reaffirming their bond as they held each other’s gaze until they kissed, slowly and deeply and she came, sighing into his mouth with a release entirely emotional and he followed, quietly, behind, as if he’d been waiting for her all along.

And he was there, the day of the funeral, by her side and took her home afterwards and she sat down, out on the porch, searching her coat pockets for her pack of cigarettes. He’d gone inside and when he came back out, sitting down on the step behind her, he snagged the lit cigarette from her hand, stubbed it out and pleaded “Please stop. I can’t lose you like that.” And she’d started crying, all the tears she’d held back in the last 6 months and that was that. It was as much a declaration as anything – as was her answer: she didn’t touch them again.

And things started getting back to normal, slowly, but their new arrangement did not change. She stayed with him and no one at the precinct said anything. It wasn’t like they didn’t know back when they were just fucking each other’s brains out, but now it just was, as if it had always been that way and there was no need to put a tag on their relationship.

But then he and Kelly were in a car accident with the first days of snow and sludge and some idiot who’d been going too fast and still had his summer tires on. And he’d hit their driver’s side when he lost control in a sharp curve and they were brought into the hospital. They were relatively unharmed, but John had a light concussion and some bruised ribs from the impact of the seatbelt. They kept him for observation as he drifted in and out of consciousness for a couple of hours. By the time Lise found out what had happened and got to the hospital by late afternoon, she was absolutely frantic when he hadn’t shown up for their scheduled lunch after he’d wanted to pick up Kelly from the bus station and no one – NO ONE - had called her.

She took them home when they were finally discharged. She was hovering. They were terrible at talking about their feelings and they certainly hadn’t talked about what they would tell Kelly, but she’d just figured she’d see them for lunch and she’d get out of their hair and let Kelly spend time with her father. But that had been before the accident and John had sensed her indecision and told her “Stay.”, giving her hand a squeeze. It wasn’t like Kelly hadn’t figured it out months ago.

And so she stayed, made them dinner and later, at night in bed, she’d burrowed into him (gently, trying not to bother his tender ribs) and told him “I was scared I’d lost you.” And that night, a last unspoken wall fell. “I think maybe we should update our emergency contact information.” And she nodded. And before he drifted off to sleep, he added “I love you.” And with a sigh of relief, she breathed “I love you too. Don’t scare me like that again.” and he held her gaze, smiling sleepily, until his eyes fluttered close. And when her lease was up for renewal a few months later, he just replied “When do we move the rest of your things?”

**Author's Note:**

> Oh look. Bout of insomnia. Sleep is apparently overrated. Anyone want to explain to the GM and my boss tomorrow how I'm a cranky zombie because I was up all night writing smut? Yeah, me neither.  
> Hope the run on sentences aren’t driving y’all crazy - it’s meant to read like a blody rush to the head. One of these days I’m going to try a different style.


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